


Baby, Let Me Love You

by narrythenight



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, High School AU, M/M, Narry - Freeform, Oblivious!Harry, angsty niall i guess, crushes and stuff, i still dont know how to tag properly ha, lol i dont even know, long overdue oops, this is too late im sorry, valentine's day au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:32:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1244467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narrythenight/pseuds/narrythenight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall abhors Valentine's Day.</p><p>Harry and Louis are no help, no, nope, not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, Let Me Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.
> 
> Title taken from Taylor Swift's "Invisible"

It was the sacred day once again, where hearts were scattered almost everywhere around the world, and everything screamed _romance_  and _kisses_  and _dinner dates_  and _cheesy proposals_ and just _everything_  Niall despised secretly with all his little fragile heart.

But really, the main reason why he abhorred it all too much was because of the stupid Valentine's day program that the school always forces the students into.

Sure, he could take on hearing obnoxious giggles from girls being sweetened up by their lovesick boyfriends all day. Sure, he could take on a whole day filled with couples shamelessly making out in the corridors, occasional moans from a horny one or two. Sure, he could take on hearing loud and kinky hook ups every time he passes by the janitor's closet. Sure, he could take seeing his two seat mates—who were almost as much of a loser as he is—with desks piled with gauzily wrapped up teddy bears and chocolates while his desk lay empty, only his pen keeping him company as it lies down on the beige color of the desk since he was literally that lonely.

What he couldn't take, though, was that stupid, stupid, _stupid_  Secret Valentine program.

The program consists of people in each homeroom choosing their fate on who to write a _genuine_ Valentine's letter to by rifling through the names of each student on that class in neat folds of paper jumbled up inside a small heart-shaped jar sitting on the teacher's desk for everyone to see.

For everyone to be _intimidated_  by it, maybe.

Niall trudges on towards homeroom with his hands shoved in his pockets and his head bowed down. He shuffles along aimlessly along the crowd in the hall. Earphones plugged in, he effectively drowns out the numerous voices echoing throughout the enclosed space. All he could think about was how much he dreaded every step he takes closer towards his destination.

He snaps out of his staring gaze on the floor as someone shoves past him roughly, causing him to stumble a bit and barely catch his balance, almost teetering to a full out sprawl on the floor. Feeling a rant bubbling in the pit of his stomach, his brows slowly furrowing into a scowl and opens his mouth to say something preferably rude when he sees a head of wavy chestnut curls barreling straight ahead through the sea of people without a care in the world.

His words automatically die in his mouth.

It was Harry.

Harry Styles.

The reckless lad he fell in love with ever since he moved to this town and saw him laughing raucously at some joke a feathery haired boy ( _Louis_ , he says distastefully) probably said to him while they strutted down the road without as much as a glance towards the new Irish bloke who just moved in a few streets away.

Niall envies them.

Envies their long time friendship. Their comedic streak known throughout the campus. Their boisterous laughs every time they found something worth laughing about and their obvious, _obvious_  flirting that has Niall wanting to fling himself out of the closest window available and plunge to a silent death.

He couldn't take away the dull throbbing of his chest if he so much as takes an accidental glance at the two grinning wistfully at each other, as if simply being with each other was the best thing in the world (and Niall suspects that to be true).

He couldn't take away the pang in his chest every time he catches Harry staring with such an adoring gaze at a rambling Louis every time he sneaks a glance at the popular duo.

He couldn't take it away because the only solution to delete it completely out of his system was to have Harry look at _him_  like that for a change. Look at him in a way that would make his heart flutter and his pale cheeks flush to a rosy red hue because Harry adored every bit of him. From the lone freckles on his neck to the way his toes would curl up every time he felt uncomfortable and to the way his stormy blue eyes would dance in delight, unwavering with their sparkle as they swoop in for a loving kiss.

But Niall's realistic enough to know that the only lad Harry would like to gaze at affectionately would be one whose lips never stopped moving excitedly. One whose skin was tan and whose hair would come out all soft and feathery to the touch just like his delicate nimble fingers, so unlike the guitar-calloused fingers of his own. One whose eyes were nothing of a stormy blue of the deepest depths of the ocean, but a lighter shade. The blue that reminds you of a clear and sunny sky, a warm and cheerful day, unlike his eyes which showed nothing but the murky darkness of a vast ocean.

He knows that Harry's in love with none other than Louis Tomlinson.

And it seems that the feelings were quite mutual between the two, seeing that they spent almost all their time blatantly doing some contest on who can outdo who with the worst pickup lines of the century and the sheer number of bum slaps they give each other in every single day.

 _Ugh_.

Well, that was what Niall thought as he enters the classroom, seeing the duo arguing about practically nothing useful and obviously meaningless. No one even took a glance or acknowledged the burst of bleached hair entering the room and taking their seat at the back, proving Niall's point of being such a darn awkward introvert ever since they've moved to London.

Settling down on his seat, Niall sets his lone blue pen (it matched the color of his eyes, which made him buy it in the first place) on the desk and taps his fingers on the wood, as quietly as he could since, well.

Since he was sitting right behind the desk of Harry Styles himself.

He could hear excited giggles and their light banter that made Niall have the urge to roll his eyes because,really.

Why aren't they together yet?

Oh right, because they're both too much of a shy boy when it comes to feelings.

Lovely.

 _Adorable skinny love my arse_ , he thinks with a snort. Makes him want wedge a locker door on their heads because every dismal type of flirting between them makes him want to retch and weep, knowing that he doesn't even have the right to do that since Harry wasn't even his. Heck, Harry didn't even know he _existed_. All Niall was to the emerald-eyed boy was some kid who always sets himself apart from everyone and who apparently seems to be trying too hard to impress anyone with his bleached locks. What he didn't know was that Niall was never accepted in any social circle of the school. Whether it be of nerds, band geeks, populars (though he doubts that he'd ever get noticed by them), he'd be glad to hang out with them. But no one ever welcomed him or at least tried talking to him even if he was the new boy in class. Not even a short hello or a small hi. He was never accepted, yet he was never rejected either, seeing that he never really even tried to join one without any offers to do just that.

In short, Niall was invisible. And lonely. His reminiscing thoughts of all his close friends in Ireland and their lovely welcoming school were cut short as he hears the voices around the class fade out, the teacher entering and calling out, "Good morning, class!"

As he hears the other people's halfhearted murmurs of  _good morning_ , Niall remains silent. His eyes narrow at that familiar heart-shaped jar with pieces of paper jostling inside with each step the teacher takes. He almost catches himself sneering at the little irrelevant object.

"Who'd like to volunteer to pick first for our annual Valentine's day event?" the teacher asks, the jar now in her hands and being shaked vigorously. The pieces of paper inside jumped around, as if they were restless for someone to have their hands on them to pluck them out to freedom. "Anyone?" the teacher asks in an expectant voice, probably thinking that numerous hands would shoot up in the air to volunteer when all she sees right now are faces streaked with boredom and sleepiness.

Except Niall.

Niall had his eyes trained on the moving jar. His pupils followed each move of the object, like he was waiting for the right moment to pounce on it and smash it on the floor until it was only a wreckage of broken shards of glass and bits of paper. So of all the students, the teacher just had to call his name out.

"Hm. How about you, Mr....?" the teacher drags out, obviously forgetting his name. Of course, no one would even remember his name. He tried telling himself that it didn't sting, even for just a little bit. That it was his fault anyways, for being so goddamn secluded with himself.

"Mr. Horan," Niall says gruffly with his voice cracking, earning him a few snickers from a few students around. "M-Mr. Horan, miss," he repeats right after clearing his throat sheepishly.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Horan. How about you take the first try?" she asks with such a wide smile that it almost looked fake. Which, uhm, which it probably was. He wished that Harry would atleast go on gentleman hero mode in front of him and save him from the wrath of the plastic-coated smiling she-beast, or atleast someone in the class would volunteer for him. But all he got as a response from his telekinetic pleading was an unwavering bout of silence.

Goddamnit.

Well, atleast now he knows that he certainly doesn't have telekinesis or any mind message powers of any kind. (Though he seriously doubts that someone would even try to respond to him if he did.)

Heaving a small sigh, he stands up slowly, trying his best not to let his chair scrape noisily and oh so awkwardly on the floor. But of course his chair just _had_ to be such a traitor to him for this torturous day and decided to scrape louder than usual, causing the dead silence to be disturbed by an irritating sound that made a few students take annoyed glances at him. He mentally winced at what just happened and tried his best not to kick the chair in irritation. Traitor, he spits out mentally to the innocent looking object beside him. Hopefully it got the message.

He takes small and silent steps towards the teacher, his head ducked down and only looking at his shoes. He felt a small hint of despair not because there were numerous gazes locked at him and practically burning holes through his skin. No, it was because no one even spared a glance at him or offered him a bleak look of encouragement. He was only met by silence and the soft sound of the soles of his white supras hitting the floor. Only when he sees the worn maroon pointed pumps did he dare look up to see the too-bright smile of his aging teacher. Niall doesn't realize he's been delving in his own thoughts whilst staring creepily at the teacher until his seatmate ( _Zayn_ , he thinks) calls out, "Oi! Blondie! Have a crush on Ms. Parker?" he laughs, earning a few sniggers. _The name's Niall_ , he thinks spitefully to himself.

"Go on, Mr. Horan," Ms. Parker chirps encouragingly, the jar in her hand now held up towards him. The circular opening looking rather like jaws ready to suck and drag his arm into the darkest depths of a sea of lonely melancholy. It seemed like it took an hour for him to swoop his hand down and grab the first piece of paper his fingers felt, his hand pulled back as if it was about to be caught on fire.

"Who'd like to go next?" the teacher asks in a chirp, completely forgetting about letting Niall sit down and start off with his task. (S'not like he expected her to. He's used to it.)

He walks back to his seat similarly with the way he went to the front, head bowed down and eyes lowered to the ground. He tries not to stop once he sees familiar tips of painfully worn out boots on his left, breath hitching at the close proximity of the boy he's admired hopelessly for such a long, long time. Too long, really.  

He takes a seat, mind blanking off as several motions happen before his eyes, the tall lanky figure of the curly haired boy in front of him strutting towards the front of the class to snatch out a (very lucky, Niall thinks) name of a person. He almost frowns with Harry as he sees him furrow his brows at the written name on the paper. He didn't get Louis's name.

Obviously.

And he really had to send a genuinely apologetic look at the said boy's name.

Obviously.

He's got a blank piece of yellow pad on his desk, his pen sitting comfortably by its side. Almost everyone's finished opening their folded pieces of paper and are set to work writing fakely genuine letters of admiration. Everyone except him and Harry. How fortunate. If he was on the prospects of falling under the maturity level of a prepubescent girl, he could've been squealing and claiming how they're both soulmates simply by the coincidence of having both of them be the last ones to start writing a letter. But he wasn't planning on doing that, God _no_. (But if he was a prepubescent girl stuck in a senior's homeroom, then maybe. Just maybe.)

So yeah, maybe Niall wasn't staring at the way Harry's head seemed to be all over the place seeing that the lad in front of him looks restless and agitated for some apparent reason. (Niall knows because Harry fidgets when he's thinking about something, Niall's always observed and no, that's not creepy, nope.) His fingertips blindly reach out to the small strip of paper, light indentations on each point indicating the hardness of the writing. Niall thinks the person might've been stressed about the event too, so he deems the person as someone who could be a potential acquaintance. Taking a peek, he sees a slanted N at the end of the page and hm, okay, maybe his quiet seatmate then? Liam Payne? Or was it spelled Pain? Since the muscles bulging from his arms seem to indicate that, Niall thinks to himself, glancing shortly at said boy before hunching down on his seat and full on opening the damned piece of paper now.

 _Wow_ , okay so Niall wasn't prepared for _this_ , no not at all.

 _Louis Tomlinson_ , his paper reads.

His jaw slackens in disbelief, eyes even widening comically making Zayn beside him stare as if he was trying to do a pirouette on top of the small desk.  _No way, god, nonononononono_ , Niall groans in a small mumble, folding up the paper in a hurry and nudging it as far away from him as possible, leaving it by the edge of the desk in danger of falling on the cold dirty ground below.

But wait, no, wait. Niall sits up, this new idea, no, _devious plot_  forming up in his mind. Maybe he could use it to sabotage Louis and ruin his relationship—or whatever they call it—with Harry and he could be there to pick up the pieces and—

And no. He can't do that. Can't possibly do that, no. Louis has been there earlier for Harry and always sticks to his side through everything, s'not his fault. (Although maybe if he got here first he could've had a chance, Niall thinks with a snigger, easily dismissing the thought.)

With the incessant babbling in his mind and the rhythmic tapping of the tip of his pen, he didn't notice someone letting out a small _pssst_  to call for his attention. So when he snaps out of his thoughts of tracing kisses over the v-line of no one in particular—Harry—he's surprised, no, baffled to see wide green eyes with their attention focused on him.  _Him_.

He almost squeals.

Calming himself up by taking quiet lamaze breathing sessions he sees in the movies, Niall forces a grin on his lips, making it look more of a grimace which makes the emerald-eyed boy in front of him quirk an eyebrow. And yeah, that's 100 points from Gryffindor, _ha_ , real funny. Clearing his throat real quick, Niall asks quietly, even attempting to sound all smooth and proper, "Yes?"

"S'was just wondering if we could, hm, I dunno, exchange, uh papers? I think I've gotten myself a real total loser," Harry whispers in a hurry, gaze never leaving the other boy and gosh Niall could just stare at those pink lips for decades. He almost catches himself chiding Harry on being mean for calling someone a loser because come on man, that was him, but yeah, Harry was talking to him so no, no, no.

"Hm? Oh, uhm, uh, yeah, yeah uh, here, yeah," Niall mumbles hurriedly, looking at the long nimble fingers holding a flimsy piece of paper between them. So as not to look suspicious, he gingerly takes the paper from him and replaces it with his own.

"Thanks," Harry whispers with one of his signature cheeky grins, making Niall almost choke in his own breath because _ohmygod Harry Styles just smiled at me ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod this is true love I'm telling you_. Niall's trapped in a glaze of foggy understanding, until he hears Harry let out an excited cheer in front of him and oh.

 _Oh_.

Well, shit. He's just given them an opportunity to get closer and ugh, fuck, god no. This can't happen. Plus, it's even his fault for crying out loud. He just wants to be alone and watch sappy movies with a tub of ice cream like the secret white girl he is and even the world deprives him of that little indulgence wow, thanks. Now to see who this loser is, Niall thinks to himself, already planning the ice cream flavor for the movie later—chocolate mint—and wondering what sappy romances are on the Valentine's day specials. He quietly fumbles with the edges of the material making it peel back with its thin layers, too busy dwelling in his thoughts to care.

So yeah, maybe Niall's day got a little bit worse seeing that Harry's making googly eyes at a Louis already spreading drool on his desk and yeah, maybe he's just traded himself a death wish for his own fragile heart, no biggie. Although this was the final straw, the _last fucking one_.

So what, maybe Niall's feeling this strange stinging in the back of his lashes and maybe he hears a soft sniffle or two from his red nose and maybe his face is heating up and maybe the pen he's been tapping on the desk has fallen to the floor. Because really, it's no big deal to him if he sees what the name on the paper is, who the total loser was in Harry's eyes.

 _Niall Horan_.

No biggie that Harry doesn't even realize that it was him who he's chosen, the invisible blond kid with the bleached locks. No biggie that his heart starts crumpling away along with the paper in his hands, knowing that he has zero, zilch, nada, _no_ chance at all and he was a nobody who'll be spending the umpteenth Valentine's day all alone.

A _nobody_.

No big deal at all.

(Or so he tells himself.)


End file.
